


Shadows

by AdorabloodthirstyKitty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorabloodthirstyKitty/pseuds/AdorabloodthirstyKitty
Summary: "It's not fair, is it?"





	Shadows

Damien's shoes click against the stone walkway of Mark's garden, head bowed and eyes on the ground in front of him, hands wringing absently at his cane. He really should get back to the office, get some of the paperwork done that's been sitting on his desk all day, but he's needed a break, and Wil had insisted. He can never say no to him.

"Mayor Damien?"

Damien smiles at the familiar voice, head lifting to find Mark's groundskeeper walking toward him, a bouquet of white roses in hand.

"Just Damien is fine, George, you know that. Trimming the rose bushes?"

"Yes, sir. I know you're a fan, especially of the white ones, so I saved the best for you."

His smile grows as George hands him the roses, nodding his head in thanks. "They're lovely."

"Mark always has had the most lovely flowers. I'm sure you'll find someone to give those to, and if not it's always nice to receive flowers every once in a while."

"Thank you, George, I really appreciate it," Damien grins, chest light and smile wide as George tips his hat and ducks his head in a small bow with a smile, Damien bowing back as the groundskeeper turns and heads back to tend to the garden, leaving Damien to hurry into the manor to show Wil.

His steps echo and bounce off the floors as he makes his way into the manor from a side door, his steps quick as he makes his way through familiar halls to the kitchen, where he saw Wil last. He turns and walks through the doorway to find The Colonel standing by the window, hands folded behind his back as he looks out over Mark's garden.

"Look Wil, new flowers," Damien grins, Wil turning his head to meet his eye, a smile obscured somewhat by his thick mustache.

"That's nice, Damien," he hums, taking the bouquet as he hands it to him, waiting for his reaction. He twirls the bouquet in his hand slowly, looking them over with a fond smile.

"George knows you well, giving you the white ones. They'll look good in your lapel."

"Thank you. I wasn't planning on keeping all of them, I was thinking maybe I could give some to Celine, brighten her day a bit."

Wil's face does something complicated, lips pursing as he ducks his head to study the flowers more intently, as if not meeting his eye on purpose.

"I'm sure she'll love them."

Quiet falls between them both, a thought that's been sitting with him since he first received the flowers making his hands fidget nervously with the head of his cane, gripping it tightly as he tries to quell the nerves building as he speaks up again.

"I was also thinking you could have some, if you wanted. Since I won't need them all, and Celine probably won't either. It's a rather large bouquet."

He feels as though his heart will bruise his ribs with how hard it beats in his chest as Wil studies the flowers for a moment, a small smile on his face.

"I'd like that very much."

Relief floods his body like a wave, a bright smile etched into his cheeks at the smile Wil gives him, sunlight glinting off his glasses and making his eyes shine even brighter.

"I'm glad."

-

It's busy in the office as the others hurry about, Wilford's head spinning like a top with the thoughts in his head. They'll need to have a meeting soon, discuss the direction of the shows and set up filming locations, sets, the whole thing. He needs to talk to Dark about all this, he's always so good at planning, at mapping out the tasks needed to reach the goal. He's just about to head to the conference room to search for him, or to check on one of the others when a bright voice reaches his ears, pulling him slightly from his daze.

"Look Wil, new flowers!"

He turns to a familiar figure, obscured by bright sunlight from the doors flung open behind him, his slicked back hair shining and his suit dark and clean, a bouquet of red flowers in hand. He's smiling, eyes bright and warm like sunshine, like home.

"That's nice, Damien," he hums, plucking the flowers from his grip, smiling down at the roses as he twirls them in his hands, unable to help thinking white would be more fitting.

It's quiet for a beat, besides the distant sounds of people working in other rooms, voices from far away, before his companion speaks again.

"Who's Damien?"

Wilford stops, his head suddenly deathly, eerily silent besides those two words bouncing around his skull, swirling like a whirlpool behind his eyes as his chest gets tight, a pressure forming behind his eyes. He's shaking ( _why is he shaking?_ ), as he lifts his gaze to meet almond eyes, hair slicked back but not flat enough, not quite right. It's Bim, he realizes belatedly, after staring for a good minute, studying the inconsistencies. But who was he expecting? Who did he think he was?

Who is Damien?

The name sends a tight, harsh pain to his chest, his lungs suddenly devoid of air, his stomach churning dangerously. He clutches his chest with his free hand, over the tight spot behind his sternum as he tries to remember how to breathe. He needs Dark. He needs Dark right now, just as much as he needs the air that feels too thin, that passes through his lungs too quickly, making him almost lightheaded. His eyes snap up from the ground when a soft hand rests on his shoulder, Bim stepping back at the sudden jerk of his head, hands out hesitantly.

"Wilford, are you ok? Do you need me to get Dr. Iplier?"

"Dark. Where is Dark?"

"I think he's in the conference room," he replies, Wilford nodding jerkily as he turns to the hall and stumbles toward his destination, gripping the roses so hard he feels the thorns embed themselves in his skin. He needs Dark. He needs Dark.

The walk takes an eternity but he finally makes it, leaning into the door to push it open and steady his shaking, weak frame, Dark's head bowed, hair hanging over charcoal-rimmed eyes.

"Good afternoon, Wil," he murmurs, not lifting his head as he continues writing, his pen gliding along paper as he works.

"Who's Damien?"

Dark stops. Wilford watches his doubles flicker, red and blue outlines of his form flashing as he lifts his head, eyes wider than usual, body and jaw tense. Wilford's vision blurs, and he wonders if he's going to pass out before warm tears slide down his face, his chest spasming with silent sobs.

_"Who is Damien?"_

Something odd flashes over Dark's usually stoic features, something almost like pain before his face is a mask again, standing and stalking toward Wil. He's almost afraid that he's upset him somehow, but is thrown for a loop when strong arms wrap around him a bit stiffly, as if the limbs aren't used to the specific movements, as if he's not sure how to do this. Wilford clutches his dark suit jacket in his hands and sobs, so hard he can't breathe, so much that his head aches and his throat is sore when he finally calms to small whimpers, to hiccups and sniffling. And Dark holds him the entire time, a surprisingly soft hand pressing stilted circles into his back.

He never answers, and eventually Wilford forgets the question he asked, but the pain remains.

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](https://alcordraws.tumblr.com/post/166431837630/damien-doesnt-really-know-the-groundskeeper-at) heartbreaking post


End file.
